


Gimme A Kiss

by mydickisthealpha



Series: I Won't Blame You [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, Drabble, First Kiss, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydickisthealpha/pseuds/mydickisthealpha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Technically, the rogue werewolf isn’t his fault. It just so happens that there is a rogue werewolf, and Stiles is in the vicinity (meaning he is actually nowhere in the vicinity at first) and he just, maybe, slams into it with his Jeep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gimme A Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> A request for 'passionate first kiss' from haleashes over on tumblr.

Technically, the rogue werewolf isn’t his fault. It just so happens that there is a rogue werewolf, and Stiles is in the vicinity (meaning he is actually nowhere in the vicinity at first) and he just, maybe, slams into it with his Jeep. He’s getting kind of tired of damaging his baby (and his own body) on supernatural creatures, and is getting even more tired of it doing absolutely no damage to said supernatural creatures, but he isn’t going to let innocent people get hurt when he has the ability to do something. Stiles can be useful, he has to be. 

So it’s with a rabbit-fast heartbeat, but steady hands, that he comes out of his Jeep, gripping a baseball bat made of Rowan. The rogue werewolf has recovered all too easily, something Stiles will complain about later (if there is a later), snarling and dirty under the light of an almost full moon. He prowls around Stiles, heaving angry breaths, clawed hands stretched out and tensed as his eyes flash blue. 

An omega Stiles can deal with. He doesn’t have to be nervous about getting turned, so he lets himself relax as much is possible when one is facing down a product of many people’s worst nightmares. He’s done this before, but it’s not like it isn’t going to hurt. 

He hears Derek’s voice in his ear, commenting on how tense he is and how bad that will be to his reaction time, hears Erica snorting at something Boyd has said. He feels the soft flesh of Derek’s hands, something he’d always pictured to be calloused, slide down his arms, correcting his position. 

“Dig your back foot into the ground,” Derek’s voice is an echo as the rogue werewolf stops short, “find your balance, feet parallel to your opponent, just like with regular baseball.” The were roars as he crouches, but Stiles doesn’t tense. 

“Believe.”

The bat hits the rogue square in the jaw, his flesh sizzling as he stumbles backwards. The surprise is enough to give Stiles another opening, so he takes it, swinging hard and fast right to the ribs. He hears the crack of bone, but doesn’t see the claws swiping at him until he feels them embedding into the flesh of his chest and ripping skin away. 

Stiles manages to pull away, the sting of open wounds making him suck in a breath, biting his lips as he repositions himself. The rogue didn’t make much of an impression, not enough to seriously injure him, but it still hurts. The rogue swivels back around, opens his mouth in a snarl of teeth and spittle, and charges in fury. 

Stiles licks his lips as holds his ground, dodging away just in time to strike the rogue in the back of his head. It’s not enough, he knows, because the pull of his chest has weakened his swing, but it gives him more time to get back into a powerful stance. 

They dance back and forth, Stiles taking a few blows to various limbs, the rogue’s flesh simmering every time the bat hits his skin. Stiles is getting tired by the time he hears a cacophony of howls in the distance, the distinct roar of an Alpha making the rogue freeze in his tracks, his head snapping towards the sound. 

Stiles throws his head back and howls. 

Derek barrels into the road from the forest, and only gives the rogue one chance to concede defeat before he’s on him. The fight doesn’t last long. 

Stiles rubs a hand over his face and closes his eyes as Derek straightens from his crouch, letting his bat fall uselessly to the asphalt, as he leans against his Jeep. 

“Are you fucking kidding me, Stiles?” 

Stiles’ eyes snap open, and so does his mouth. 

“I got a text saying you crashed your car,” he stalks over, nostrils flaring, “A text saying, ‘there’s a rogue’. That’s  _it._  What is going on in that stupid head of yours that you decided to do this alone?” Derek lifts his eyebrows in his patented angry sarcasm. 

“Listen,  _buddy_ , there are children in the houses along this road. The least you could do is thank me, but I forgot that I’m completely useless because I’m not a—”

“Stiles—”

“—werewolf. The death of someone else would’ve only caused trouble with more hunters and I think, correct me if I’m wrong, that we’ve had enough of that in the past few months.” 

“This isn’t about the trouble it could cause, Stiles, this is your life—”

“What about everyone else’s, Derek? I’m not useless, I can do things to protect people, I’m a valuable asset—”

“Nobody said you aren’t valuable, where do you keep coming up with this?”

“—and I am a part of this pack whether you like it or not—”

“Stiles.”

“—I’m here for Scott, and for the pack, and for _you_ , you asshole—”

“ _Stiles_.” 

“—I just want you to be happy.” His last words make Stiles snaps out of it, shaking his head quickly as he comes back to himself. Derek’s nostrils are still flaring, and he’s breathing like he’s the one that’s been yelling.  They stare at each other, chests heaving, until something snaps and Derek’s grabbing Stiles’ face with both hands, and they’re kissing. 

Stiles makes some sort of aborted noise, throws his arms around Derek’s shoulders and he’s so desperate, because this is all that he wants and Derek is giving it to him. His fingers dig into the dark fabric of Derek’s Henley, pulling him closer just as Derek crowds him against the Jeep, thumbs pressing against Stiles’ cheekbones as he presses Stiles’ lips open with his own and slips his tongue inside, tasting his teeth. Fire floods through Stile’s veins, pools into the depths of belly and curls there, makes him shiver and pull the heat of Derek’s body right onto his own. 

Derek groans throatily at the contact, and Stiles sucks his lower lip into his mouth and bites, laving his tongue over it and back into his mouth. He fists his hands into Derek’s hair and he feels himself lose his breath as strong hands slide down his sides, hiking his legs up around Derek’s hips. Derek angles his head slightly, presses in deeper, breaks away to bite along Stiles’ jaw, his stubble brushing against his skin, only to come back for more. They breathe into each other’s mouths, teeth clashing, bruising and teasing until they’re both flushed and heaving, lips swollen, hair tousled, as they pull away. 

“You can’t just go into a fight and leave me wondering if you’re okay,” Derek says and he presses his forehead against Stiles’, closes his eyes. 

“Okay,” Stiles says, and he means it, “okay.” He brushes his mouth over Derek’s again, lets his eyes flutter closed as they part their lips and move in a way that isn’t desperate and angry, but slow and accepting in all the ways they need. 

“This is disgusting.”

Derek huffs out a sigh as he rolls his eyes, glaring at Jackson without much heat at all. Scott looks really embarrassed, and his hand is twitching like he wants to cover his eyes. Isaac is smiling, and Erica and Boyd are snickering to each other.

“Mmm, I’d say it was pretty nice,” Stiles says, and pulls Derek back in. 


End file.
